Short Stories!

Rain

(Ah, this one gets a little creepy towards the end~ Not too bad, just a little dark...)

Rain

A fair face, gaze downcast onto the gloomy, gray streets where familiar people with unfamiliar faces go about their daily business. The girl watching them knows the order of each person who enters the coffee shop many floors below her apartment, but she has never met a single soul who passes underneath her gray, dull eye. Yes, her eye saw all that went on underneath it, but it required more. Information passed from rain drip to raindrop, a network of energy and everyday life not known to many people. Long ago, the girl sitting in her window seat in her small, gray apartment, had persuaded the rain to tell her its secrets. Forbidden knowledge, taken from the dim, dour alleyways, and public knowledge that has yet to reach the common mortal, from high above. Do not keep your secrets, because she will know. The rain will tell her, and she will know. If you proclaim your secrets, loud and booming to the clear sky, you may begin hope that the rain will not come today, and if it does, that it will not speak of you. You would have to be very unfortunate, however, to be mentioned by the light drizzle that follows every clear day. The drizzle is a factual thing, only caring for the facts and data. Beware of the heavy rain as it gushes from the highest peaks of whatever may be above you, for it spills every detail of every person's life, and speaks your deepest desires in a deafening, roaring sound, even if you have not spoken them aloud. If the girl did not refuse to say a word to others outside of a very tightly woven group, a group so tightly woven together that they make up more of the universe together than apart, she would say "Do not forget the rain. The rain makes up more of you than you do. the rain knows you better than you know yourself. Fear the ones who know to speak with it." Alas, she does not speak very often. And if she does, it is in harsh, brash tones that cut you apart, down to the very last fiber of your soul. She is not a patient woman, for the ignorance and delay of the mortal judgment were what led her to become an outcast, an insane person, on the brink of destroying her own race. She held a deep hatred for others who have not proven themselves, for reasons unknown, even to me. She is a mystery, an enigma, to even the ones who seem to have known her since the beginning of time. She is mysterious indeed, and she nods as she knows I have said this. The rain carried my words across dimensions and time to tell her of the words being spoken about her. Wordlessly, she gets up from her window seat. She is acting upon a part of her routine that she can almost never bring herself to do. She leaves the gray comfort of her apartment and walks down to the coffee shop. She sits down, and the noise stops. All talking is muted, the baristas move in mute terror, as they already know her order, and fear what is to come if they make a sound. As she is served, the tension is released, but the silence continues. All there is to discern of the outside world is the sound of rain. 

12/19/2017